Nya

“Nothing’s changed since the last time you looked,” Patrick said, not even bothering to look at me three days later as I paced to the big picture window and looked out.

“You never know. One of the deer might have found a new tree,” I said.

That got a quick chuckle from Patrick, who finally looked at me.

“Then I guess your fiftieth trip to the window was worth it,” he said. He went quiet for a moment, then looked at me. “Is it really that bad?”

Though Patrick’s tone hadn’t changed, I sensed the undercurrent in that question.

I also paused as I considered it. Before, I had been incredulous, outraged that someone had invaded my home, even more upset that Patrick was insisting that I stay at his. It was only common sense that got me to see the wisdom of coming with him.

And in the time I’d been with him, Patrick had made it more than worth my while. Even now, my body still hummed as I remembered his mastery of it. The way he seemed to know me, know exactly how to touch me to get a response.

One look at him and I had no doubt that he knew the direction my thoughts had taken. And some small part of me was embarrassed. I still hadn’t reconciled how the rational part of my mind knew that I should resist him more, knew that it was wrong to want him, crave him like I did.

But I didn’t bother to indulge the emotion.

Even if I’d wanted to—and I did want to—there was no way I could deny the truth of it.

Patrick Murphy was in my blood, and I didn’t know if I would ever have enough of him.

Of course, that realization, as irritating as it was, didn’t end the entire topic. There were other things to consider as well.

Patrick kept me occupied, so satisfied I slept better than I ever had at night. On those nights he allowed me to sleep.

I actually wondered how he kept it up. I was usually too exhausted, wrung out from pleasure that I couldn’t move. Patrick, on the other hand, seemed to have an inexhaustible well of energy.

He’d love me, go off to his study to do whatever it was he did there, something I tried not to think about too hard, then come back, love me more, and seemed no worse for the wear for it.

If I was honest with myself, I would admit that as each day passed I found him more and more admirable, grew to care about him. A week ago, it would have been unbelievable.

Now, it was undeniable.

There were practical realities to consider. When I looked at Patrick, saw his calm, considering expression, I decided I may as well share them with him.

“It’s not…” I trailed off, started again. “It’s not that bad.”

“But…” he said, looking at me expectantly, seeming to sense there was more to be said.

I smiled, suddenly shy, and looked away. Still, I heard Patrick as he stood, approached me. I fell into his arms without hesitation, feeling at home there, something that still scared the fuck out of me. I ignored that for the moment, and instead took in the feeling of being in his arms, took in the strength of him, how good it felt to be with him.

“What makes you think there’s a but?” I said.

Patrick laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. Though I wasn’t looking at him I could easily picture his face. See the faint lines that appeared when he flashed his quick little smile. Could see the glimmer in his eye, one that was a mix of humor and arrogance that Patrick wore so well.

He pulled back, looked down at me, his dark blue eyes sparkling like I had imagined, the good nature that lit them feeling so right that it was almost heartbreaking.

“You know I pay attention, don’t you?”

“What do you mean?” I asked, thinking I had an idea but not yet wanting to admit as much to him.

“That’s a yes,” he said.

“Don’t be smug, Patrick,” I said, chiding him with my words, though I knew they would have no effect on him at all.

“Can’t help it. It’s a family trait,” he said.

It was my turn to laugh, and when I did, his smile deepened. I went quiet after a few moments, studying him. He said nothing, but I knew he was waiting for an answer. I also knew that he wouldn’t move on until I answered.

“Yes, I guess you are relatively observant,” I said grudgingly.

That was something of an understatement. I still didn’t know how Patrick had anticipated that gun in the elevator the first morning, what he’d heard to tip him off that night at my house. How he’d seen my parents with a sympathy and clarity I’d never mustered.

I also hadn’t dared ask how he seemed to know me so well, how he seemed to have no trouble at all reading me.

I’d always thought of myself as mysterious, or at the very least not transparent.

Something else Patrick was proving to be a lie.

“Like I said, you seem pretty observant,” I said.

“That’s not the whole truth, and you know it, but I’ll let it hold. For the moment,” he said.

“How gracious,” I replied sarcastically.

“I try.”

I laughed despite myself, and Patrick joined in. That was another thing about him that surprised me. His humor, the way ours seemed so in synch was not something I’d anticipated, nor something I understood.

I liked it, though. Liked him.

“So given how observant we both know I am, why do you think you can hide how you’re feeling from me?” he asked.

I rolled my eyes, shook my head.

“Patrick, not everything is about you,” I said.

“True, but this is,” he said.

“How so?” I asked, wondering why he thought so. Things between us had been serene, ideal, really, so I didn’t know why he’d associate any unhappiness with him. Besides the obvious, of course.

“You’re my guest, and I feel more than a little responsibility for your current circumstances. Of course your comfort, or lack of, is my concern,” he said.

“I’m comfortable. Your home is lovely. It has everything I might need,” I said.

More than, actually. Patrick’s home had a gym, theater, a pool, sweeping grounds. It was perfect. A fantasy home that people would pay a fortune to rent, let alone live in.

“But…?” Patrick said.

I looked up, for a moment losing myself in the dark depths of his eyes. And as I looked at him, I felt my embarrassment creeping up.

“Fine,” I said, trying to blow it off, pretend that I didn’t care. “I do love your house.”

I looked at him but he didn’t say anything else. “But I’m bored.”

His brows dipped, and for a moment he looked confused. “Bored?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” I whispered.

Saying so out loud made me feel like such an ass, but when I looked at Patrick, he started to smile.

“You know how to keep a man on his toes, don’t you, Nya?” he said.

It was my turn to frown, so I did, looked at him as I tried to gauge his reaction.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

He laughed, looked a little more relaxed. “I was…” He trailed off, then shook his head, laughing again.

“What?” I asked.

“I’ve been racking my brain trying to figure out what’s wrong, what I can do to make it better. I mean, I know the circumstances aren’t what you’d want but…”

I tilted my head, studying him, trying to process this. He tried to keep me comfortable, but Patrick racking his brain over me was surprising. And surprisingly pleasing. “You were worried about me?” I asked.

His brows dropped. “Of course. This is a really fucked-up situation. What, did you think I didn’t care?” he asked.

His voice had lowered, sounded almost dangerous, and at the same time disbelieving.

“Well, I guess I hadn’t given it any thought,” I said.

The flash of Patrick’s eyes told me he could see through my lies. I shook my head, sighed. “I mean, it’s obvious you care to some extent. You didn’t just leave me behind to have God knows what happen to me. So that means something,” I said.

“Huh,” he said, looking at me with skepticism. “So I cared enough to make sure no harm came to you but not enough to care if you’re bored?”

When he said it like that, it seemed a little ridiculous. But I nodded. “Yeah. That’s about right. I mean, keeping me alive is one thing. Keeping me entertained is something else,” I said.

“I thought I was doing a pretty good job of that too,” he muttered.

“Adequate,” I said.

“Should I prove myself?” he said.

I lifted my hands in defeat. “No. That won’t be necessary,” I said.

“You’re the most stubborn woman I’ve ever met,” he said.

“Have to be to deal with you,” I shot back.

“Not that bright either,” he said.

“What do you mean?” I asked, not at all offended by Patrick’s insult. I’d gotten used to his somewhat rough and unsparing words, so much so that they hardly bothered me anymore.

“If you were bored, you should have told me,” he said.

“But, as we discussed, I had no idea that you would care. And besides…” I said.

I trailed off, embarrassed that I was even concerned with something so minor.

“Besides what?” he asked.

“I mean, it’s a little ridiculous. I should be worried about life and limb, not about being bored,” I said.

“Maybe. But you don’t strike me as the idle type. I could see sitting still getting to you after a while,” he said.

“Yeah. My mother says I’m a workaholic. I didn’t agree with her until this week,” I said.

Patrick leaned forward and brushed a quick kiss against my lips. I warmed, still excited by his touch while becoming far too used to it.

“Now that I’ve diagnosed the problem, I have a solution.”

“What’s that?” I said.

“Get dressed,” he replied. “We’re going out.”